Poetry is just the evidence of life. If your life is burning well, poetry is just the ash. Leonard Cohen

Sunday, February 10, 2013

Summer Girls


Do you remember when summer was summer?
Crazy with June we ran
Sticky fingers syrupy with popsicle drips
And tongues stained in shades of fake fruits
Daisy chain days
Crabapple happy
Hands clapping to silly sing-song rhymes
Trees climbed high to find
The perfect perch for our bird light bodies
Rainy days
Dancing in the drops that hit the hot street
And vanished with a sizzle
Shady days
Lying in the warm grass laughing
Daydreaming of the boys we loved
And loving the girls we were
When summer was summer.



Mary said...

Oh yes, I remember those summers! Loved those popsicles. What a sticky wonderful treat on a hot summer day! And lying in the warm grass....ants and all...what fun memories!

Sherry Blue Sky said...

OMG, I LOVE this poem. As I read it, I felt like a child again, the sticky hands from popsicles, the summer sun, banging in and out of the screen door, when all of life was sunny and there was nothing to do all day but swim and play. Sigh. A fantastic write, kiddo.

Brian Miller said...

smiles...summers of our youth seemed so much different...not a care in the world and life seemed so grand ahead of us...

not displayed said...

I still love spending time outdoors in the summer. And iceblocks on a hot day

Fireblossom said...

I wear hair bands a lot; do you think I probably look like that girl in the tree? No? I look more like the tree? Well, shit. You're no fun!

But your poem is. I loved this, and know just what you mean about "when summer was summer". This is as warm and sweet as the front lawn in June.

Brother Ollie said...

I do - how do we get it back?

moondustwriter said...

good time to write about summer's past (in the winter)
good memories